Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(19)

“Stirring the spaghetti sauce that the young Padawan requested, I am.” Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers. He can clearly see that I’m moving a spoon around in a pot full of Bolognese sauce.

He glowers at me like I’m the least funny person he’s ever met. “And I’m talking like this because it’s hard to get out of character after playing Star Wars all afternoon.”

“You’re not supposed to cook dinner.” His fingers rap against the marble countertop, but his eyes stay fixed on the pot. Lately it’s like he totally avoids looking at me.

“The force is just too strong with me in culinary arts. Young Luke has announced that my cooking is superior to yours.” I smirk at him, getting far too much enjoyment out of needling him, especially since I know he loves to cook and is damn good at it.

The manly man across from me just scoffs, finally lifting his eyes. “He did not.”

“He did.”

His arms cross petulantly. “I don’t believe you.”

I smile prettily. “Okay, Darth Cade.”

At that moment, Luke blasts into the kitchen from washing up. “No! I want dad to be Jar Jar





Binks!”

Cade’s forehead wrinkles and he appears genuinely confused. “What the hell is a Jar Jar Binks?”

Luke and I dissolve into a fit of giggles. Cade ignores us and removes the spoon from my hand, dips it in the pot, before lifting it to his lips for a sample. His only reaction is a low grumble. Which is practically a five-star review coming from him.

“What is all that laundry doing on my bed?”

It seems like every day I do something helpful around the house, and Cade finds a way to complain about it, like I’ve gravely offended him.

I pop a chip into my mouth and don’t bother looking at him from where I’m sprawled on the couch. I already know he’s scowling. I practically see that expression on the back of my eyelids every night when I try to fall asleep.

“I did a couple of loads today and wasn’t sure where it all went.”

“You’re not supposed to do my laundry.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to interrupt me watching Gossip Girl reruns. But here we are.”

“I don’t need you to do my laundry.”

I sit up with a deep sigh. “Okay. We’re really fixating on that? It was some towels and a few sweaters. Not your tight boxers. So let’s just cool our jets, yeah? They were already in the basket, and I’m not lazy, so I tossed them in the washer. Not a big deal. No need to put me on death row over it.”

He stares at me, but rather than scowling, he appears a little perplexed. “No one has ever done my laundry for me.”

“Probably because it’s not worth facing the electric chair over.”

He just glares at me.

“Imagine if I dropped a red sock in with your white towels? Oof. Brutal. End of days.”

More glaring.

I pop another chip into my mouth. “Is this where you try to melt me with the power of your mind because I had the gall to help you with a chore?”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re rude?” is all he comes back with.

I grin at him before turning back to the TV and cranking the volume. “Says the guy who still hasn’t given my panties back.”

“Willa!” I hear Cade calling from inside the house. But Luke and I are hiding outside on the back porch, waiting to jump out and scare him. “Where are you guys?”

“Luke?” His footsteps march through the house with authority. It feels like I might be in trouble for something, but I always feel that way with Cade. “You hungry, pal?”

We don’t move an inch.

“What the hell,” he mutters, drawing nearer now. Probably in the kitchen.

Luke is behind me, and I peer down at him, his palm clamped across his mouth to hold back laughter. I raise a finger up to my lips, reminding him to keep his shit together and stay quiet.



The fridge door creaks open. A bottle cap hisses as it pops open. I can imagine Cade’s throat working as he takes a deep pull of a what I assume is a beer. He’s close now. He must be staring out the screen door.

Luke presses in against my hip, and I absently wonder what Cade is thinking.

“This fucking woman is going to be the death of me.”

Okay. So that’s what he’s thinking. I take a strange sort of pride in his statement.

The door swings open, and he steps out onto the porch, which is right when Luke and I jump out from behind a planter.

“Boo!” I shout, as Luke yells, “Chipmunks!”

Cade flies back, and I glance down at Luke, wondering what the hell would inspire him to randomly scream chipmunks. But I don’t think about that for long, because when I look back up Cade’s stern face is the color of a tomato and he’s wearing his beer down the front of his fresh T-shirt.

Oh yeah. We got him good.

All I offer is a lame attempt at a joke. “Wet T-shirt contest?”

And all I get back is a scowl.

“Willa, how has your first week been?” Cade’s dad, Harvey, smiles at me from across the table. It’s my first family dinner at the ranch, and I’m downright enamored. It’s so . . . wholesome?

When I walked into the dining room, Cade pulled a chair out and stared at me until I figured out he meant me to sit there. After I did, he tucked me into the table and one of his calloused hands brushed casually—mistakenly—over my bare neck.